


His Mask

by GayGothicFanboy



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cigarettes, Depression, Immigration & Emigration, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23874880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayGothicFanboy/pseuds/GayGothicFanboy
Summary: Mike Makowski seems like some douchey vamp kid. But Pete notices a change in him. And he thinks the other vamp kids see it too.
Relationships: Mike "Vampir" Makowski/Pete Thelman, Mike Makowski/Pete Thelman
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	His Mask

Mike slowly stirred. His eyelids opened, allowing his red eyes to scan the room.

According to the second in command vampkid, Bloodrayne, the room's of the vampkids tended to be, neon green or a light purple.

But Mike's? It was black.

On the wall were posters that were, Unlit Pain, Trapped, and Darkness.

Taped to a dart board, was a printed out photo of Edward Cullen. There were darts all over his face.

On Mike's night stand were packs of cigerettes.

Mike sighed as he sat up. He was 17--one year on testosterone.

He got up as fast as he could. He also made sure to wear his binder and his packer.

Technically, he was old enough to get top surgery; but, his family was far too poor.

Mike's family were actually immigrants from...you guessed it...Romania.

That's where Mike's, or rather Mikhail's, infatuation of Romanian folk lore started.

It had been quickly mistaken for him being 'a vamp kid' and Mike just rolled with it.

Mike headed down stairs, his bookbag full of cigarettes and one lighter.

No sounds arose. 

In which, could only mean one thing.

Mike sighed and said in his accent (that he tried so hard to repress at school), "Mama is at work."

Mike headed into the kitchen and began to brew coffee. 

That's when Mike's drunken father burst in. "Where are your boobies, Ioana?"

Mike winced at his dead name. "Hidden away."

His father asked, "Why'd you do that?"

Mike simply said, "It just makes me feel better."

His father's eye twitched erratically. He then pinned Mike to the counter and held Mike's wrist tight. 

"Mă doare, tată!" Mike choked out. (You're hurting me, Papa!)

"Atunci vei ști să nu faci asta. Sau durerea va fi mai gravă," his father snarled. (Then, you'll know to stop doing this. Or the pain will be worse.) "Dreapta?" (Right?) The pressure on Mike's wrist slightly let up.

Mike nodded. "Da." (Yes.)

Mike's father smiled. "Good." He stalked away.

Mike's hand clamped his wrist. It was throbbing. He sighed. And drank his coffee. 

It tasted bitter but as bitter as his misery. 

And Mike decided to leave through the back door this time.

  
  



End file.
